In this series of paintings my intention is to revalue urban landscapes, horizontal extended
cities. An apparent dialogue between overlapping elements, moving or sinking blocks
that create a geometry of what is yet to come. The grays and contrasts, the absence of
humanity or maybe the presence of a threatened humanity, hidden behind concrete,
sheltered only by the sky.

The feeling of irreversible solitude, the absence and remoteness of nature, silence.

I overlap images that let the complex background flow in the structure it supports
within coincidence of layers and transparencies.

But certain gestures burst through an organized context and express themselves. They
open a new path, reveal themselves, materializing as a returning breeze, a whim.

Scientists have warned us for many years about the irreversible damage we are causing our planet.
Still Nature (Naturaleza Quieta) tries to reflect the gesture of the mountain deer being targeted by the stalking hunter. Paralyzed, alert, it perceives the danger. Just as our hypothetical deer, planet earth, our home, defenseless and threatened, awaits for the final shot that will trigger the ecological holocaust. With no chances of fleeing, unable to escape, trapped in the canvas, thistles, sunflowers and rushes persist in agony as a reminder of the moment preceding the final collapse.

“We conceive every element, every characteristic, every detail, the resolution of every
life as the parts of an indivisible whole. It is no longer about one person or another, it
does not matter how long it has been, the terrible torture does not count, what really
matters is the possibility of being in the battle even after the genocide.

This individual, I, we, all of our forms and expressions do not only have our own name
but we are the sum of all names; we gather the letters sent yet not received, those
censored and those cut with scissors; we keep the memory of stolen or burned books, or
those abandoned in friendly bookshelves; we remember the ransacked houses, the
mourning of our brothers and sisters, the grief of our parents; we are the torn shirts,
the shoes without laces, the exile, the monstrous transfers, the attempts to scape, the
sacrifice at the edge of a terrace, the tears; we are the river and the final cry.

We are every body, we are all the bodies cowardly crushed at night; we accumulate
every minute of all the prisons, every held breath, every last and precious heartbeat,
every feeling of loneliness and every dream of freedom and love; we are the looks that
you all see, we are the soul, or better yet a single soul that hosts the stories from their
beginning and long beyond the present, we are the beacon that sheds light in the
darkness of this world, in the story to come, in the future story, which already contains
all the possible outcomes, the destinies of each of them, and keeps them in a safe place
because the individual, I, we feed on that, on the stories and on the future, on that future
that could not be lived, on what could have been but was not, and so we persist, forever,
indestructible in the sea of history.”